Kale sat in his cramped living quarters, his mind elsewhere. These days had been unlike any before—full of danger, discovery, and death. Other disciples from the first dojo were treating him with a kind of normalcy now, but those from the second still either ignored him or looked at him like he was some kind of mistake.
He didn't care.
Today, all he needed was rest. He wasn't looking to impress anyone. Not yet.
But fate had other plans.
The bell rang—its deep, resonant tone signaling that all first dojo members were to gather. Kale sighed, pushing himself up from the floor. He dusted off his robe and stepped outside into the cool mountain air.
The sect grounds bustled with movement as more disciples joined him along the path. The sect itself felt ancient, carved into the mountainside by time and will. The elders had built this place from nothing, guiding new seekers not just to survive, but to thrive using the Ocean of Knowledge. It was never about day-to-day life—it was about mastery, control, and purpose.
As he walked, Kale remembered Elder Myrra's words from the previous night:
"The more you build upon an insight, the more it becomes yours, solidifying as your anchor."
He got the gist. To truly connect with the Ocean, he needed to choose his first anchor. But what would it be?
His thoughts were interrupted by a commanding presence stepping onto the platform near the sect gates. Kale recognized her immediately—Elder Sylra. She was the one who had seen him after Alden's death. Her pale white hair flowed like mist, and her worn, bandaged arms spoke of recent battle. A sword hung at her waist, its hilt darkened with age.
The crowd quieted as she raised her voice. "The gates are now open," she announced, her tone firm yet calm. "You may leave the sect for personal matters. We have finished our business beyond these mountains."
A murmur of relief spread through the crowd. Some disciples stretched their limbs, others whispered excitedly about returning home, meeting family, or trading insights and materials gathered during the festival.
Kale, however, didn't move with them.
He stood still, watching the gate as if it were a distant horizon he wasn't ready to cross. He needed to settle something within himself before leaving again.
With a quiet nod to no one in particular, he turned away from the crowd and walked back toward his quarters.
He needed to find his first anchor.
And he wouldn't leave until he did.